


Flordia Summers

by virgotrocious



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Crying, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Virgil deserves happiness, a happy boy, a sad boy, but then, past self harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-27
Updated: 2018-05-27
Packaged: 2019-05-14 12:33:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14769710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/virgotrocious/pseuds/virgotrocious
Summary: Virgil doesn't want to take off his jacket. Who can blame him?





	Flordia Summers

As the spring season faded and summer began to rise, so did the heat. Roman clearly to found it the most unbearable, having shed his shirt completely and opted for laying flat in the common area instead of embarking on an epic quest. Logan had shed his tie, clad in his usual black short sleeved dress shirt tucked into loose fitting shorts, hair swept back to keep sweat off his forehead. He read on the couch next to Patton, who was smiling despite himself, face hot, wearing cargo shorts and his classic blue shirt.

Virgil was in the bathroom.

In general, the man preferred avoiding mirrors, finding they fueled his self deprecation and didn’t really do anyone any good. Despite this outlook however, Virgil had gotten caught in a classic spiral of self hate, staring at his body uncomfortably without the sweatshirt to distort his shape. Awkward was a good word to describe it. Gangly was another. He preferred pathetic. 

Scars, old but painful in a different way, scattered his arms and legs in varying severities. He could tell just by looking at them which took place on his worst days and which were put there as a simple but important reminder that he was alive.

Virgil’s sweat was lifting from his skin without the jacket present, and it admittedly felt amazing in the sweltering heat. His shorts were women’s shorts, which he used for sleeping but had no other pairs, and they showed off his scars perfectly. Hurray.

He wasn’t proud by any definition of the word; quite the opposite in fact. Virgil didn’t like the scars not only because they’re just another thing that make him different (a freak), but they represent to him a time he would rather forget.

After spending perhaps his first fifteen years of life under the loving care of Deceit and the other Dark Sides, he managed to escape and join the other three. Maybe life would get better.

The scars were just proof that it didn’t.  

Virgil bit his lip and shoved all of Prince’s insults, Patton’s disapproving stares, and Logan’s blatant disregard of his validity out his head. Things were different.

Still though. Virgil tore his gaze away from the mirror and slipped his sweatshirt and pants back on. He wasn’t ready, and in the back of his mind Virgil could almost hear him saying “that’s okay.”

Just as he reached for the doorknob, someone knocked, sending him back a few steps.

“Hey Virge, you okay in there kiddo?” Patton’s voice called, the real one, muffled from behind the door.

Virgil regained composure and swung open the door carefully.

“Yeah, I’m okay.”

Patton’s eyebrows shot up and he turned his head to glance back into the common space, where Princy was already staring.

“Hey Sunshine!” Prince called out from his spot on the floor. “What’s with the winter gear?”

Virgil stiffened, but brushed it off with a straight face and eye roll that felt a bit too forced. “Looks like I'm not the only one outside the dress code Princey. Last time I checked, this was our living room, not a strip club.”

The creative side barked a boisterous laugh. “Well when was the last time you checked?”

When he let his eyes trail again, Virgil noticed that Logan had averted his eyes away from the thick book in his hands and over to the darkly dressed man standing like an idiot in the bathroom door frame.

“Virgil, your attire isn’t well suited for this kind of weather,” he said with a slight frown. “I’m concerned you’re going to suffer heat stroke and that would be unproductive in the improvement of Thomas's mental-”

“Thanks Lo, but I’m fine. No need to worry.”

Virgil learned it was hard to say that you’re fine while wearing a sweatshirt and sweatpants in 90 degree heat with broken air conditioning. The sweat was already coming back full force, sticking the dark fabric uncomfortably to his skin.

“Virgil, how about you just take off the nifty jacket of yours for a bit?” Patton asked his most persuasive voice.

“Yes, that would be ideal.”  
“Yeah Jason Toddler, just for a bit.”

Virgil shook his head a bit awkwardly and went to sit down on the couch, keeping a polite distance from Logan. After a few moments of silence, Patton disappeared inside the bathroom, Roman closed his eyes and let his head rest on the floor, and Logan… well Logan continued to stare.

It was much more intimidating than Virgil would have liked. The man’s eyes were intense, knowing even, clearly suspicious of Virgil’s refusal to dress for the occasion. The mental notion of Logan being able to tear down Virgil’s walls and read him without a word was horrifying, and Virgil was about ready to flee when Logan spoke.

“Virgil, please know we won’t turn you away for whatever you’re hiding.”

The eye contact remained strong and serious, but Logan’s voice drifted soft and comfortingly. It was almost tear jerking, the assurance coming from Logan meaning more than anyone else. Logan didn’t lie.

A sudden shift on the couch made Virgil whip his head around, breaking off the look they shared. Patton had returned as was sitting up a little straighter than he normally would.

“Yeah Virgil, you know we’ll always love you.”

He was starting to feel lightheaded, and unsure if it was from dehydration or the praise, it was enough to freak Virgil out.

He walked out of the room with his shoulders hunched.

Fight or flight baby.

Virgil rolled up his sleeves once safe behind the closed door of his room but kept the hoodie on as he stretched out on his carpeted floor. He closed his eyes and after a few minutes fell asleep (or maybe passed out, it was unclear at that point).

An unidentifiable amount of time passed before Virgil was awakened by a soft but insistent knock on his door. Patton, he assumed.

“Virgil, dinner time!” the father figure called, voice unsure and perhaps a bit concerned.

When he stood, Virgil almost toppled, swaying like a tall tower whose foundation had begun to fail. He made it to the door nonetheless, not caring so much when he rubbed his eyes and unavoidable further smudged his eyeshadow.

He swung the door open and was a bit confused to be met with an empty hallway. Hallucinating? It seemed unlikely, so Virgil walked downstairs towards the kitchen to inspect dinner's validity.

“Oh good, I was worried you were asleep when I didn’t hear anything,” Patton smiled and ushered Virgil to a seat at the table where Logan and Roman already sat.

“Hello there Nana Ama McFrown. Nice of you to join us,” Roman poked fun, his innocent smile enough for Virgil to mostly dismiss the possibility of malice.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Virgil was able to form a witty reply but the words didn’t quite make it to his tongue. He felt fuzzy and could honestly go for an ibuprofen.

“Virgil? Virgil!” Logan barked, eyebrows furrowed in concern. “Have you taken your sweatshirt off since this morning?”

Virgil tugged the sleeves down further as a reminder that were there and shook his head after confirming that they were.

“Patton, get him some water please, I think he’s overheating.” Patton nodded and scurried into the kitchen as Logan stood up. “Virgil, you need to remove your hoodie. Or at the very least, opt for shorts. Its unhealthy in this heat and without water to dress like that.”

A healthy dose of panic served well in sobering Virgil up from his head fuzz. He pulled wrapped his arms around himself tightly and again shook his head.

“Virgil please, I’m sure whatever you’re worried about won’t change how we feel about you,” Roman chipped in, resting a calm hand on his shoulder.

Patton set down a glass of water and gave Virgil the biggest smile he had ever seen, which was an amazing feat considering how wide Patton usually smiled. “We love you.”

Slowly, Virgil released the grip from his sleeves. His sweat was making the fabric damp and itchy, unpleasant to wear. It occurred to him dully that he probably didn’t smell too good. Virgil stood and walked out of the room, listening to the others murmur quietly in concerned but hushed tones.

Back in the bathroom, Virgil didn’t look at the mirror. He changed into shorts, pants hard to tug off with the sweat binding them to his legs. Exposed skin was a blessing, feeling amazing in the heat. Before letting himself to think too hard about it, Virgil dead sprinted out of the bathroom, shorts and an open hoodie, his black shirt peeking out for the first time all day.

He screeched to a halt just before making himself visible to the others in the kitchen. It would be okay. His fingers grazed the scars at the tops of his thighs. Old. They were old.

Old scars didn’t have to define his new life.

Virgil held his breath and stepped through the doorway. The others smiled, they were relieved. Patton clapped, Roman winked, and Logan’s lips upturned slightly which was his equivalent of a Patton grin.

As Virgil stepped closer, the clapping stopped, Roman stared, and Logan’s smile fell into a very slight frown.

Virgil wanted to cry, but instead he held his breath and half hoped to suffocate. Suddenly the room burst into activity, all three other sides clambering up and rushing to his side. Patton lowered him to the floor to sit and the others sunk in succession.

“May I?” Logan asked, hand hovering lightly against just above his knee.

Virgil nodded, and watched as Logan traced a finger against a few of the worse looking stars, gently turning his leg to inspect the ones hidden by in an obscured angle. His eyebrows were pointed down in concentration, and Virgil wondered if he was looking for fresh cuts.

Firm but somehow soft hands cupped his cheek. Virgil looked up to meet Roman’s eyes, which were sad. So sad.

“It was me wasn’t it?”

Virgil felt an arrow in his heart and couldn’t tell if it was cupid or a goddamn assassin. It hurt. He opened his mouth to say, no, it wasn’t you but he couldn’t speak with the feeling of hands along his knee and Patton’s arms wrapped around him.

“If I had been kinder… Oh goodness, Virgil.” Roman’s eyes trailed to the hoodie and he pointed at it shakily. “Are your...are?”

Virgil nodded.

“This is me. I did this, didn’t I?”

It was sickening how pale Roman looked. Virgil had expected disgust, anger, not whatever this was. Roman looked sad, Roman looked pale, Roman looked like him. That’s not he wanted.

Virgil pulled away from Logan’s touch slowly and tucked his legs beneath himself as to sit on knees. He reached out and rested a hand on Roman’s knee, looking at Patton to do the same. Patton took the hint and hesitantly shifted his comforting touch from Virgil to Roman.

“It wasn’t you.”

Roman held eye contact with an iron grip, shocked eyes frozen still.

“It… wasn’t?”

Virgil bit his lip, and wondered if it were best to be as honest as possible or protect the other from guilt they shouldn’t have to harbor. Words were hard to pull from his head, but it seemed worth the effort in this situation.

“Well.. I mean,” God it was hard. “It wasn't _not_ your fault, but it was my fault too! I took things too far and hurt Thomas when he didn’t have to be hurt. You all hurt me, but I hurt myself more than the three of you combined.” He looked down at his thighs. “You were doing your jobs. I understand that now.”

Roman wrapped his arms around Virgil suddenly, quickly followed by Patton. Virgil opened his eyes when a third pair of arms curled around him and was shocked to see Logan joining in. Virgil didn’t cry. He didn't understand why not at the time, but looking back maybe it was just because he’d cried enough for being sad, or angry, or scared.

He didn’t need to cry for being happy too.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are greatly appreciated!


End file.
